Menu

#0018

Since I haven’t had any bicycles stolen lately or any exciting Craigslist adventures, I’ve taken to cluing in on the lives of others. Some might call it snooping or being nosy, but those people can shove it, unless they want to tell me all their dirty gossip.

The other day in Statistics I completely zoned out and stopped listening about standard deviation, blah blah blah, because the girl next to me was having an intense text conversation on her Blackberry.

The Blackberry was orange, and her shirt and matching rhinestoned sandals were very flashy, so I blame her for my attention to her personal life, especially that first text that caught my eye,

“man i wanna get drunk… haha”

This could get interesting. I go to a Christian school, and drinking is highly taboo, not to mention, a they’ll-kick-you-out-of-this-holy-place kind of offense. I lean my head to the right for a better angle reading over her shoulder. She’s light-skinned, with hair permed straight and blonde-orange highlights. She texts again, to clarify.

“well, not too drunk i guess. just kinda tipsy hehe. nuthin crazy”

The professor announces a test on Monday and she whips out her university-issued planner. Either she doesn’t know or care, but the possession of this item screams to the world, “I am a freshman! Judge me! Shove me! Give me alcohol and rape me! LOL”

She gets a text back. I’m as excited as she is.

“ha yeah right i bet u start strippin”

I’m still trying to figure out if it’s a guy or a girl who wants to see her naked. Who is she planning this drunken weekend with? I catch sight of the name of the texter: Dreadhead Chandler. Probably a dude. She replies.

“yeah, that’s what u’d like maybe”

Then she starts to type a follow up.

“wether u were drunk or sober i no wut u want”

But she backspaces and starts again.

“i’d only do that if”

But again deletes and retypes. I’m dying in suspense here. This is the most exciting thing that’s happened to me all day.

“nah i don’t do no crazy stuff. maybe flirt thats it. oh, and now i no ur a freak after that phone call u gave me.”

I’m about to get some background, and I feel like this is breaking news the world has to hear about. Freaky dudes hitting on tipsy freshmen? I furiously take notes, hiding my notebook in my lap, so she won’t see.

Dreadhead texts back.

“so u wanna come over this weekend?”

“yeah me n ida will come. can we stay over tho? we cant go back 2 the dorm drunk.”

“yeah sure. i snore tho lol”

“who said i’m sleepin next 2 u?”

“well it’s bed or floor”

“k i don’t mind. u stay on ur side tho!”

“we’ll see.”

And class let out. And now I’m writing a blog about it. My life is so pathetic. On the other hand, had she been brutally raped and murdered, and the cops offering a reward for anyone with information leading to the arrest of a man with poor grammar and dreadlocks, I’d have a whole manuscript to hand over. I’m such a good investigator.